A Victim's Account
by neverumind
Summary: Elaine Quinn-Lowman is a strong woman, different than any woman the MC has ever seen before. But what makes her so special, what makes her this strong woman? Meet the key players that made her who she is, these are the people who have been taken by the MC lifestyle, those who loved her. This is a collection of their stories, of Lane, Hap, the MC, this is who the MC forgot. ONESHOTS
1. Chapter 1

You all know the drill by now, I own nothing but my OC's. These one shots accompany Lonely Lane but are in no real order. New chapter of Lonely Lane comes out Friday before 2 pm.!

You can spend countless hours waiting and watching, trying to time the perfect moment but it doesn't matter, death comes when it comes. It's the first thing I learned growing up in the MC, it seemed every year the casualties, the by-product of greed and cockiness would reach new tolls. No one ever remembers the countless faces of those who died for this club, no one remembers. I was 5 when I saw my first dead body, a prospect, Allan who all patched brother's called Bull had been hit by a car. I can still remember the tires squealing on the pavement, his voice calling my name and his hands touching my shoulders, pushing me out of the way. Allan was a mountain of a man, except for his brother's he had no other family. He always made a point of taking me for ice cream, talking to me like I was important, he was my first true friend. A rival gang had wanted to hit dad hard, taking out his little girl was a sure fire way, they didn't account for Allan. If my dad was my superman then Allan was my wolverine. I remember curling up to him while he died, he held my hand as the reaper took him from me.

We moved around a lot, dad joined up with the nomad charter. That year we saw the grand canyon, the Lincoln monument, the newest prospect would follow in a van procured for me and Lane, the Nomand VP's little girl. She was 4 years older, 9 and beautiful. Unlike me she hated the van, begging her father to let her ride with him, which more often then not was a no. One night the van was shot, bullets tore at the metal hitting Ethan when he dove on top of me. He lived long enough to tell us to run, long enough to dial dad on his cell before he died. Lane had been quick thinking and grabbed his gun, putting herself infront of me she didn't hesitate to fire at the stranger opening the panel doors. Im not sure the total count but I know she managed to take down 3 before our father's arrived. Later that night she held me while I cried, telling me that she was my official big sister. We stayed with the Nomad's for 4 years in total, Lane was 13 when we left, dad patched Tacoma then.

Koziak had been the first brother in the charter who I took to, I had the biggest crush on the Tacoma Son. Much like Allan had he took me for ice cream and stood up for me when I was bullied in school. Dev was the VP for Tacoma, an older man with a huge grey mustache and the greenest eyes I had ever seen. He handed me a prey-pay so I could talk to my bestfriend, Lane wasn't like the other girls, not at all boy crazy. Dev died 2 years after we arrived, cancer had eaten away at him, he had hid it well, a full Son's funeral sent him on his way. I tucked my favorite picture, it was one of me dad and Dev smiling at the camera in his casket, one happy moment to take with him. Lane and Rane had made the journey, Dev had been her uncle and this time I held her while she cried. She stayed a total of 4 days, they had business on the west coast, at 15 everyone was starting to take notice of her.

We got a call when I was 13, Lane had been kidnapped and beaten, dumped outside the SANFRAN clubhouse. She was in a coma, every son was riding down to find the men that had hurt my friend. Dad had taken me down to see her, my beautiful bestfriend was covered in bruises, her face was one big black stain, her lips split, her fingers and arms in casts. They had to crop her brown hair short, she was so fragile, so unlike the lively girl who had talked to me all night about her plans to travel. I prayed at her bedside, prayed to a god that let my best friend fall victim to evil men, prayed for someone to help her. We stayed a couple days before dad said we had to go home, Rane promised to tell me when she woke up, she just had to.

I was 17 when dad died, he was shot to death protecting a brother from another charter. I just remember Koz coming up to me holding his cut, the old worn leather that had been my security blanket for years. I felt numb, I couldn't really hear anything anyone was saying to me. My father was gone, Lane was in a coma, I had nothing but the name of the bastards that shot my dad. Keri, Dev's daughter had tried to talk sense into me but I was to busy plotting, to busy waiting for my revenge. I was 18 before I had the skills to pull it off, 18 and filled with the visions of revenge, filled with the knowledge that I could do this. I didn't count for there to be more of them, didn't count that they'd be packing a lot more heat then me. I just remember blood, the beating they put on me should have made me cry but I was empty.

The thunder of bikes, a female yelling then Lane's face as she pulled the trigger on the bastard standing next to me. My best friend had come to save me, my best friend was here. Her hair was longer but her face was filled with sorrow, there was no smile, no laughter in her eyes. It was then I knew I was dying, I didn't want to fight anymore. Lane gave me the greatest gift of all, she told me it was okay to let go, that it was okay. She had such convection that I knew she was right, I trusted her like I trusted her all along. I died December 3rd 1998 in a small wearhouse in Tacoma Washington, my sister's arms around me.

I'm here now, reunited with all those we lost. Each and every Son, prospect, old lady is here with me, so is mum and dad, Koz, Phil, V-Lin, JT Teller, Thomas Teller everyone. We stand and watch, we wait for the day we can join with those we love. None of us could have been more proud when Lane took Hap's crow, when she fought for her family, when she returned. My best friend, my sister was made for this life. She's the strongest woman I've ever met, each December she goes back to my room at the Tacoma clubhouse, each time she talks to my picture. My name is Willow Cristina Parker, I died when I was 18, this was my story.


	2. Chapter 2

**I own nothing but my OC'S and my brilliant mind :P please let me know what you think!**

Everyone wants to matter to someone, something, they want to belong to a cause, a place. They may deny it but it's there, buried so deep down they've all but forgotten that it's there. Take the MC for example, all one percenters joined together by the bond of brotherhood, by tthe small need to belong. Many bikers turn into family men, settling their bike in a small town for the pretty girl who stole their heart. Some can make it work, other's grow to resent their Old Ladies, their home and they give up trying to make it work. Choosing instead to leave on runs and fuck road pussy, getting drunk enough to smack down their woman and terrify their kids. It's then as an Old Lady you have to make the hard descions, either you stay, try to make it work, either you succed or you fail, or you run. Running is always risky, he can always choose to kill you, the hands that once loved your body will be the ones to end you. Sometimes when they find you, when he finds you, they'll let you go, they'll excommunicate you, they'll take your kids. The worst is when they don't come for you, it's the ever present lingering thought in the back of your mind, the way you look over your shoulder at every turn.

There's this story that every new Old Lady hears, it floats around, whispering in their ears, words of caution. A patch from a charter up north had been out on a run came home and found his woman gone. She'd always been a slut, a sweetbutt turned Old Lady, and had shacked up with younger patch from another charter. When her Old Man had found he'd been played the fool he'd had them hunted, not willing to let them disrespect him like that. Once he'd found them he'd made her watch as he tore into her lover before he started in on her, removing her heart from her still beating chest. No one ever says what happened to that Son, no one dares ask either. We all know the story and we all heed the warning it carries with it.

I had met Rane Quinn when I was 18, waitressing at a tiny dump of a diner. His dark eyes and tattooed arms, combained with his smile had sucked me right in. He'd taken me by suprise, asking me to share his apple pie and walking me home. We continued it for months, every week he'd end up on my door step and we'd just ride until we got tierd. One night he showed up, cut to hell and black vested he looked primal, a man's man. I had no clue that he was a Son, he was the type of guy my daddy had warned me away from. Rane started bringing me into the club more and more, then one day I was taking his tattoo.

Being a good Old Lady meant the tattoo, something to mark me as his, something I hadn't fully realized the weight of yet. It scared me but then I realized this was Rane, the man who knew I liked to dunk my sour cream & onion chips in my coca-cola, who knew I loved Metallica. He'd never once raised as much as his voice to me, he had been my leather clad night riding in on a dyna. He would hold me when the fall rain hit and I was just so miserable, he'd rock me to sleep.

The first couple years had been the easiest, Cami and Allie, our twin girls had been born. Rane had been thrilled when I told him the news, the whole club was extremly supportive, they'd filled the waiting room, waiting to see our girls. They both looked more like me, blonde hair and clear eyes, they had been so quiet. When the girls had turned four we had found out I was pregant, the news couldnt have come at a better time. The club had discovered a rat, the charter was slowly falling apart, it suprised me at how much it bound them all together again. Our little cottage had been traded up to a huge peice of land with a old style victorian home, plently of room for our growing family.

I was about 6 months pregnant and shopping with Lemmy, one of our oldest patches when shots rang out, catching me in the stomach. I just remember the sharp pain and knowing I had just lost my babies, waking up in the hospital room with Rane sitting by my side. I had lost our little boy but our little girl had survived, 3 months premature she was in the incubator, I couldn't even touch her. Rane had named her Elaine Quinn, pale with red splotches and so incredibly tiny but I didn't love her, not the way a mother should. I used to drop Cami and Allie off at day care and sit by Elaine, trying to feel something beside the sympathy, the pity, the anger that consumed me. After 2 and a half months in the incubator she was finally ready to come home, ready to make her way into the arms of a mother who couldnt love her.

With her dark hair and chocolate eyes she looked so much like Rane, I guess she knew I couldn't love her, she didnt like it much when I'd touch her. She cried non stop and I started taking to leaving her crying while smoking out on the deck. My older girls grew more vibrant, more beautiful as I came to resent Elaine, Rane, the MC, they had stolen my little boy from me. I'd watch other mother's with their boys and the green eyed monster would eat away at me.

Our life together slowly fell apart, I'd turned to perscription meds and booze while he was never around. He'd patched Nomad, he said they needed him but I knew better, I knew it was to get away from me. Michelle, the presidents wife had caught on to what I was up to, called Rane and booked me into rehab. 4 months later and I left a changed woman, sober, clean and in love with another man. He had been my docter, together we plotted my escape, I'd take Cami and Allie, leave Elaine with Rane and we'd run. We ended up in Canada, he had property there and my girls would thrive, they wouldnt live in the cruel world of cheating men and dead babies. I felt bad leaving Elaine there like that but she wasnt my daughter, she was Rane's, she had a grit to her my girls didnt.

I saw Rane a couple years after I had left, his dyna was parked in my driveway, the door slightly ajar. Sitting in my living room like he had every right, feet on the table he just stared at me. I knew somewhere deep down he wasnt here to hurt me, just laid out the facts. Elaine thought I was dead, that Cami and Alli had went with me, I was not permitted to contact any of them every again. It wasn't until after he'd left that I noticed he must have taken the photo above the mantle, the one of our girls. Everything was quiet, there was no peep from the MC, life continued on. I wouldnt hear from them for years, it was almost a bad dream that wouldnt leave.

Lane had tracked me down, waiting until her sisters left for the day before she confronted me, asking me why I turned on her father that way. Asking me why I wasn't there when she was laid up in a coma, if I even gave a damn. The woman standing in front of me had taken the life she'd been given and made it her own, made it work for her in ways I never could. She'd told me she was pregnant, she knew I was dying, all she wanted to know was why I'd turn my back on my family. The answer was out of my mouth before I knew it, my family was here, in this house, this new life I built for us. She'd nodded, her eyes hardned and she'd pushed past me, I caught the flash of a crow, it was the last I saw of her.

I died in my bed surrounded by my children, my body had shut down due to all the abuse I had put it through, coupled by the shooting. I watched my family mourn my loss as much as I could, Allie and Cami had barely shed tears, my husband was there, arms wrapped around his new blonde. I stayed and watched as Elaine Quinn-Lowman cried at my grave when everyone left, heard her forgiveness. I was finally free of the hurt and the pain, of the choices I regreted the most.


End file.
